He Doesn't See Me
by Remember
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Republication. Based off the lyrics of Sarah Brightman's "He Doesn't See Me". A young female servant suffers from unrequited longing as she pines for her master and wallows in despair because she knows she will never be noticed by him. NEW ENDING. Resurrections are fun. Drac/OC - R&R.


**SURPRISE! Bet you weren't expecting THIS! **

**So, for those of you who are new to this party, this is a one-shot I wrote and posted YEARS ago and ended up removing when I deleted everything from my account before my rather lengthy hiatus from fanfiction. Well, I got nostalgic a while back and decided to rummage through my old work. Most of it embarrasses me to no end, but I always kind of loved this one. So I cleaned it up and changed the ending. **

**Yes, that's right. This has a new ending. And it makes me feel kind of evil, which I love.**

**This little ditty was inspired by **Sarah Brightman's "He Doesn't See Me", from the album _La Luna._ **Although I feel like another singer could have done this song better justice musically, I love the unrequited longing of the words... which is why I'm posting this on Valentine's Day. **

**The republication of this drabble is dedicated to all of you fabulous readers who have been so wonderful, encouraging, and supportive. But I feel I should warn you - don't get too excited. This doesn't mean I'll be re-posting any of my other old work. I am totally breaking my own rules right now, so let's not push our luck. **

**For now, please enjoy the fanfiction (errors and all). And remember - it's meant to amuse. **

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_He Doesn't See Me_

Slender hands shakily grasped a filthy, damp rag and continued to scrub a ghastly bloodstain on an extravagant Parisian carpet. With each movement of the delicate hands, white bones and slim purple veins beneath the pallor of skin could be visibly seen. Those hands crawled up into skinny, but very strong arms, arms that intimately knew a lifetime of hard labor, lifting pails of water up flights of never-ending stairs, large baskets of linens, piles of ancient books – whatever the master desired.

A ragged and horribly grimy dark blue work dress hung onto the slim body of a malnourished young woman. Her face was pale with a faint flush in her angular cheeks from the usual cold of the place. Her skin, though frightfully pale from the lack of contact with the sun, was smudged with dirt, grease, and old blood that was now staining the tips of her short fingernails. Her eyes were the color of pine trees in the dead of a winter night, hair a light brown, the long locks braided and pulled into a careless bun in attempt to keep it all out of her face. She was one of the lucky ones. Most had their hair shaved from their heads. Fortunately for her, the housekeeper had always had a soft spot for her, and since nobody countered her word, the young woman had been permitted to keep her hair.

She wiped the cold sweat from her brow, unknowingly smearing a bit of the blood from the rag onto her face as she moved a few locks of hair out of her eyes. And there she scrubbed, mindlessly, staring at the bloodstain that she knew would never fully come out. Some stains never came out… just like some wounds never healed. Her stomach churned in both jealousy and despair as her mind was permitted to wander. She could still smell him in the room. She could always smell him, everywhere throughout the house. She knew his scent, oh so very well. Just like she knew every other aspect of him: from the flawlessly chiseled features of his face, to every sharp angle and smooth, tight curve of the body she had only seen on a few occasions and by complete accident. He was beautiful. He haunted her every waking moment, and when she was asleep, he haunted her dreams. Her master. She shuddered as a round of chills shot through her body in response to the biting cold of the dimly lit room and her hands continued to scrub mindlessly at the stain.

The stain that just wouldn't go away.

She could hear him moving about the hall, speaking to the housekeeper, unlike she… a creature of the shadows.

Never seen nor heard.

Her heart fell into her stomach as she listened to his voice outside the room, the slightly opened door allowing her ears better access to hearing him. Oh that voice. That beautiful voice. So masculine, so rich – deep like the growl of a large black cat that hummed in her ears and then vibrated pleasantly in her head. He was like an angel to her. A strange, dark angel – heavenly in appearance, but thoroughly wicked, and in a way that made her womb ache. She didn't care what the others said, the tales they told. None of them were true in her mind… her poor, poor mind.

_When he passes me by, he's a ray of light  
like the first drop of sun from the sky.  
And I know he's a king, who deserves a queen.  
But I'm not a queen.  
And he doesn't see me._

Hot tears burned in her eyes as her jealousy and despair continued to eat away at her. They were with child again… his "brides" – what a term. And the news stabbed at her like a cold blade straight into her stomach and left her physically ill.

How could this be? she often wondered silently to herself. What did he see in them?

Her subconscious knew the answer to that question and it only made the pain in her heart worse. They were beautiful –the rarest beauties ever to be seen. They were intelligent – but not too much, clever in their own way, accomplished, graceful, and obedient, subservient to his every whim – exactly what he liked.

I could be obedient, she thought to herself half-heartedly. But she had never seen herself as beautiful, and she had no talents to speak of, and, as it did nearly every day, her heart continued in its daily plummet as her tears fell from her filthy face and mixed with the stain on the floor.

The stain that wouldn't go away.

_When he dances, he moves me to a smile  
and I see everything near him shine.  
There's a grace in his ways that I can't contain  
I haven't that grace  
Oh I haven't that grace._

She suddenly heard him enter the room, the housekeeper following alongside of him. She held her breath and sank deeper into the shadows as she continued to clean the stain, her swollen, tear-reddened eyes watching him closely. She knew he wouldn't see her that he wouldn't even sense her presence. He never did before. Katherine, the housekeeper following beside him, listening to his orders, glanced over at the shrunken young woman in the shadows and offered an affectionate smile, but she hardly noticed. Her eyes were too transfixed on her master… her beautiful master.

_And the closer he gets I can't help but hide  
so ashamed of my body and voice.  
There are boundaries we pass in spite of the war  
But our own, we can't seem to cross._

She was hardly aware of how she had been scrubbing the carpet now, she was so transfixed on him. His entire body seemed to illuminate in his dark aura, the enticing sexual appeal he possessed, the flawless beauty of him. He had the body of a warrior, and the site made her ache with a primitive desire she couldn't quell. She had listened to how he pleased his mistresses, she had even watched once, when she had been cleaning a room and didn't get out in time. How she wanted that for herself, to feel him above her as he showered her in feverish kisses, as he took her selfishly and with wanton abandon. But her lusts, it would appear, would never be satisfied.

The presence of the gloriously dark-haired bride of his reminded her of that, when she entered the room.

_She has a way that surrounds her so delicate  
with a glory that reigns in her life.  
She is also so much that she is not  
These things, I can't see  
Because he doesn't see me  
And he doesn't see me._

How she envied Verona – the most beautiful, noble, and prized bride of the Count's. She had an arrogance and conceited air that annoyed the young woman to no end, but her beauty and allure was undeniable, and her loyalty was unmatched. That beauty made the young woman ill with envy, and the power the bride possessed over her master made her all the more miserable. Verona was unflinchingly perfect – horrifically pleasant on most occasions, but she could also be appallingly cold and cruel. A trait that appeared to please her master, and the young woman hated her all the more for it.

She felt herself scrubbing the floor harder and harder as her anger, hatred, and covetousness boiled inside of her, causing the natural flush in her cheeks to darken. She watched Verona bestow an adoring kiss on her master's neck before nuzzling into him. She knew she shouldn't stare, knew that one of these days she would be noticed, but she couldn't tear her eyes away – not while they whispered naughty secrets to each other, never knowing or caring that she was watching.

They never noticed.

"Verona, you must rest," came his powerful, masculine voice and the young woman in the shadows melted at the sound. "You should go feed with the others. Besides, I have work I must attend to."

"When will you be finished my lord, that I may have you at my side?" the bride asked. He gently cupped the side of her face, leading her lips towards his and he placed a deep, passionate kiss on her mouth. The young woman felt her heart skip and the dive into her womb as she imagined those lips brushing against hers.

"Soon, my darling. Soon."

Without protestation, Verona exited from the room, alongside the housekeeper, leaving the Count alone in the room, unknowingly with the young servant girl who was still scrubbing at the floor.

He appeared to be unaware of her presence, and if he had been, he never gave the slightest inclination or acknowledgement. He just continued to sit at his desk, awash in whatever work he did. She continued to watch him with her bloodshot eyes, her cheeks stained with rusted streams of tears, face flushed in humiliation at her appearance, at how invisible she was.

_There are things we can change,  
if we just choose to fight.  
But the walls of injustice are high._

She looked down at the carpet she had been scrubbing so furiously only to see that the stain was nearly gone. It was still there, but hardly noticeable. She stared down at her bony hands with her long fingers and dirty nails. She glanced at those hands thoughtfully and looked up at her master, continuing to sit at his desk, still making no acknowledgement of her presence. How she longed to touch him, to feel the coolness of his skin against her palm, to feel the pure liquid obsidian of his hair between her fingers, his muscles rippling and contracting beneath her fingertips. She could please him, she thought to herself. If she could just clean herself, perhaps get a new dress; wear her hair open if she brushed it.

But she stared back down at those filthy hands and felt the tears come once more, burning like liquid fire in her eyes and running down her unclean cheeks, invisible to the man who caused such painful longing within her soul, however unintentional it was. She picked up the rag she had used to clean the carpet and she stood slowly, lifting up the pail with her, the skirt of her sullied work dress falling to her ankles. He never noticed her stand, nor did he notice her beginning to move toward the door. The pain attacking her insides lurched her stomach and twisted like a blade as her heart sank into the oblivion of an empty soul.

_When he passes me by, he's a ray of light  
like the first drop of sun from the sky.  
And I know he's a king who deserves a queen.  
Someone other than me.  
So different from me._

Her young, yet frail hand grasped the cold brass of the doorknob as she pulled open the door, still ever invisible to his eyes, the gaze she longed to fall under. She turned to look back at him, in hopes that he would notice her exit, but he never looked. He never turned his head, he never looked up from his work, and – as it did every day – her heart shattered to pieces once more while her insides drowned in the poisonous envy and longing she felt.

_He doesn't see me,_ the voice whispered in her head.

_He doesn't see me._

And the tears came once again, running down her cheeks as she left the room, not even bothering to shut the door behind her.

_He doesn't see me_.

She moved like a shadow down the hall, silent and unnoticed, her eyes swollen and red as the useless tears continued to fall.

_He doesn't see me_.

"Annora?"

She stopped mid-step in the middle of the hall, frozen in place as the bucket slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a deafening crash, the filthy water spilling everywhere. And yet she scarcely noticed.

Had he said her name?

She couldn't believe it. She stood there, paralyzed with shock as she replayed his voice calling her name over and over again in her head so she could remember it always. This wasn't happening. She had to have dreamed it. But it had sounded so real.

"Annora?"

Hearing her name once again was almost too much for her. How he knew it, she didn't know, and she didn't care. He was calling for her!

She eagerly turned and nearly ran down the hall and back to the room she had only just exited from only to find… nothing. A puzzled expression marred her features as she quickly forgot about the fallen bucket. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her she should clean up as she moved over to the open door. She peeked into the room and noticed her master still seated at his desk, still lost in his work.

He never looked up to glance at the door. In fact, he never looked up at all. She couldn't find the voice to ask him if he had called for her. She assumed it was just her imagination. Her poor, pitiful, cruel imagination. She sighed heavily, her heart broken once more as she moved over to the fallen bucket and she began to clean up her mindless mess, all the while, her mind mercilessly tormenting her.

_He doesn't see me…_

She wiped the tears roughly from her face, desperate to get control over her emotions as she mopped up the murky water with a renewed kind of urgency, longing to get out of this hallway and away from the man whose existence tormented her so. She fought the impulse to turn and look back at the partially open door that separated her and her master and she silently congratulated herself with each passing moment she succeeded. She had to get over this embarrassing obsession. It was clear he would never see her, would never want her the way she wanted him. She had to get out of this castle, this labyrinth of dark halls, endless stairs, and constant night.

Suddenly filled with a determination that was foreign to her, Annora released a cleansing sigh and wiped the last remnants of tears away as she mopped up the remaining filth with her once-white apron. She would leave this place, she thought to herself. She'd do it in the morning. No one would notice her absence, except Katharine, and though the housekeeper would be disappointed, she'd never raise a fuss over the loss of a nobody like Annora. She'd start afresh, perhaps in a village somewhere, surrounded by the living. The prospect of feeling the sun on her face made her warm down to her toes and for the briefest of moments she forgot what kept her here in the first place.

She placed the sopping rag into the empty bucket and examined the floor briefly. It would be dry in a few minutes, she assured herself, and with a smile she was so unaccustomed to wearing, she stood, lifting the bucket. She caught herself when she almost glanced behind her at the room where her master was lost in his work. No, she couldn't look back. If she looked back, she would lose her resolve. So she kept her eyes forward and began to make her way down the hall toward the stairs…

… never realizing that peeking through the doorway, shrouded in the darkness of a dimly lit study, a pair of unearthly blue eyes had been taking her in for the first time. And despite her sullied appearance, the owner of the eyes was immensely pleased with what he had seen.

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**Reviews are always appreciated!**

**For a link to the song, just go to my profile and scroll down. Thank you for reading! And Happy Valentine's Day! **

**-T**


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